Malfoy Shrugged
by uselessenglishmajor
Summary: February 14th is just another day at the office for Hermione Granger. Shame no one else got the memo. HG/DM. EWE. 2/2.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Just a bit of mindless Valentine's fun. Hope you enjoy! 3

* * *

"Is this your doing?"

Hermione surveyed the office, hands on hips, eyes narrowed and head pounding from a lack of adequate caffeination so early in the morning. In reality she was late—late by fifteen minutes for her and still an hour earlier than anyone else—but that was deliberate. She had no desire to prolong this day. The sheer volume of red hearts and flowers and fairies dressed in obnoxious Cupid costumes (including stupid little bows and arrows) that floated about her was going to induce some kind of seizure, she was sure.

"Bah, humbug," she muttered, batting all romantic-themed obstacles aside as she stomped to her desk.

"It has nothing to do with me." The only other occupant had not looked up from his work. She was surprised that he was even in this early and had obviously been here for some time judging by the several inches of parchment and three empty coffee cups that covered his desk. "Though to hear your pleasant countenance at the spectacle brings me a modicum of joy, I have never been a masochist."

"So you hate it too?"

An elegant hand vaguely gestured with a quill to a vase of dead, blackened roses. "Apologies. I think those were meant for you."

That elicited a small smile. "You shouldn't have."

"Couldn't help myself, Granger." He glanced up. "Just wait til you see the card."

"You read the—?"

Draco Malfoy shrugged. It was a practiced movement with a plethora of subtle variations. She had come to learn their many meanings in the two years they had been working together, thrown into a forgotten corner of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. For Hermione, it had been her dream; fresh from nine Outstandings in her N.E.W.T.s and a wealth of job offers from every department in the Ministry and beyond, she had chosen an entry-level position in the place that time, sense and all rationality had forgot, as Malfoy liked to call it. He was here under the terms of his probation, rehabilitation through the championing of those he had once seen beneath him. Their purposes were crossed since she cared and he didn't. Still, they made a formidable team, despite the first six months of struggle.

It had come to a head the morning she had arrived to find five house-elves organizing thousands of files under Malfoy's careful instructions. The kicker had been that the documents were towards legislation that would hopefully set them free. Hermione had been apoplectic; Malfoy had seen no problem. They had argued—loudly and longly and emphasized by several violently cast hexes—until the smallest house-elf had burst into tears. "Look what you've done now, Granger," he'd sneered. "It's okay, Mipsy. Ignore that kneazle-haired ogre. You're doing a fantastic job." And he had gone back to micromanaging the micro-sized creatures.

Two months later the House-Elf Liberation Act was passed.

That was how they worked: she brought the passion and determination and he the brutal and ruthless pragmatism required to navigate the bureaucratic dungheap (also Malfoy's phrase) that constituted the Ministry. People left them alone and Hermione liked it that way. They weren't friends but they were colleagues, effective ones at that, and sometimes he was the only person she would speak to and share her day with. Especially since her break-up with Ron.

It had been a year now. Exactly one year. For they had broken up spectacularly last Valentine's Day.

"Open it," Malfoy said, and she knew this shrug meant that he had no regrets and he was doing her a favor and wasn't it better that he pried into such things and saved her the heartache and him the drama of hearing her whine all day. That was how damn subtle his shrugs could get and how expert she was at reading them.

"Oh." Hermione smoothed out the envelope that held the card, her name spelled as MIONE in the florist's hand and the edge already neatly ripped. She sat down and tipped the card out.

_Dear Mione,_

_Isn't it time that we should try again? A new year—_

"—a new day. Valentine's Day." Malfoy spoke the words in monotone, eyes returned to the parchment on his desk. "I'll always regret what I said and how it ended. I'm sorry. New beginnings, yeah?"

Hermione placed the card down and glared at the top of his blond head. He glanced up with an innocent smile. "I thought the 'yeah?' really made it. Who wouldn't be won over by that?"

"Who wouldn't indeed?" She reached for her wand and set the card on fire then did the same to the dead roses. "Much better."

"Très, très romantique."

He joined in and cast his own wand towards the fluttering fairies, transfiguring their outfits into the heavy black robes of wizarding undertakers. Red hearts became lumps of coal and flowers root vegetables.

"Valentine's carrots?" Hermione said.

"Love is dead. It belongs in the ground."

The atmosphere was suddenly more pleasant. She felt warmed by her hatred of this awful day and that she could share it with someone who apparently despised it even more than her.

"Who hurt you, Draco?" she said and she smiled as his eyes startled then narrowed in suspicion.

"Who hurt me? My dear Hermione," she blushed at her name, "my heart is a horrid blackened thing of spite and disappointment and broken dreams. I was viciously let down by a house-elf. And this is my punishment." He waved his wand and all the decorations vanished, along with the ashes of Ron's apology flowers. "You see a shell of a man before you; a devastatingly handsome and charming shell, but a shell nonetheless."

"And what am I?"

"Tiring. A distraction. The sad embodiment of every cynic I know, wearing a hard skin to hide your wounded little idealist heart. You remind me of my father in that sense."

"I do?"

He never talked about his father. The apparent slip caused Malfoy to give an uncertain shrug. He rarely gave those either. "I've really come to loathe this day. I would rather save the wretched kelpies. Shall we?"

So you didn't always hate it, she thought but made no further comment, agreeing that she would much rather immerse herself in work.

The peace lasted for a blissful two hours. Then came a knock. "Whatcha, Granger?" Cormac McLaggen entered without waiting, without manners or invitation or the self-awareness to realize how rude the interruption was. His wide frame staggered through to survey the room as if Malfoy wasn't there, depositing himself on the edge of Hermione's desk as he ventured, "A little lonesome?"

"What do you want?" she said, aiming for Malfoy's effortless nonchalance as she kept her gaze on her work.

This was McLaggen's seemingly four hundredth unsolicited overture towards her—for she knew that's what this must be—ever since her break-up with Ron. He had accosted her in every corner of the Ministry, never taking "no" or "bugger off" or "you repulse me" or "is that your reflection over there?" for an answer. He had even reached for her bum in the lift until she had hexed his hand with an acid burn. He was already a deputy in the Department of Magical Games and Sports and seemed to think that this made him untouchable. She had tried to press for disciplinary action due to sexual harassment but it turned out no sexual harassment policy was in existence. The Ministry truly was a dungheap, she thought.

"Lunch," he declared. "Let me dine you. I can wine you later. It's Valentine's Day, Granger."

"And?"

"Given what happened last year—"

"What was that?" She put her quill down and finally looked at him. "I don't recall my affairs being any of your business."

"You don't have affairs. That's why I'm offering."

"How gracious."

"I thought so."

"It always seems dangerous whenever you start thinking." She could hear Malfoy snort, but McLaggen still seemed oblivious to his existence.

"Look, do you have plans or what?"

"I—"

"Yes, she does."

"Who asked you?" Now McLaggen acknowledged her office buddy, though Malfoy spared no glance towards him as he responded:

"Granger always works through lunch. And well into dinner. Her heart belongs to this office and the downtrodden magical creatures of the world. Though you may be magical and a bullish, arrogant, oblivious brute, your dire predicament unfortunately does not fall under our remit. I suggest you leave."

Malfoy still had not looked up, and it was then that Hermione realized she could never attain this masterful level of bored indifference.

McLaggen stood. "Why don't you make me, Malfoy?"

"Why don't I?" Hermione flung open the door with a flick of her wand. "You can show yourself out."

"Can we at least do drinks later?"

Cormac's large body went flying and the door slammed shut in his wake. Hermione sighed.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she mumbled to herself, and Draco Malfoy barked out a loud and unexpected laugh.

It was after two when she finally decided she was hungry. No one had bothered her again, somewhat aided by the locking wards and silencing charms she had placed following McLaggen's swift exit. Malfoy had not eaten either. They had worked diligently, only speaking when a question arose or some other point required further clarification. The draft for the kelpies' reservation protection bill was coming together, though a field trip would be required. Hermione tried to imagine Malfoy by a misty Scottish loch, cold and disheveled and displeased in the protective waterproof clothing they would be required to wear. She smiled at the thought.

"Hungry?" he said.

"Hmm?"

"You have the faraway look of a person in the throes of a hypoglycemic attack. I can have takeout delivered."

"Don't use the elves!"

He ignored her as he stepped over to their office floo. "I swear that might be your epitaph, Granger." He threw in some powder and called for the Manor. "Thank you, Mipsy," he said as small hands passed a large bag of takeout through.

"You already ordered?"

"I was keeping it warm until you collapsed from starvation. Here." He came to the other side of her desk, shoving parchment aside as he unpacked cartons of food.

"Hey!"

"You still a stickler for the sweet and sour pork? I ordered other stuff too, but you're so pathologically predictable."

Soon his feet were propped up on her desk and he was expertly shoving prawn chow mein into his aristocratic maw. His love of Muggle takeaway had been a revelation, but she was never one to complain when it meant that he provided lunch. And though he blamed it—along with many other oddities—on the terms of his probation, there was nothing she could find in all the Ministry regulations that mentioned any requirement for experiencing Muggle culinary ways.

"You need to stop playing hard to get," he said as he finished off a spring roll.

"Hard to get?"

"With McLaggen." He ducked as she aimed a chopstick at his head. "You've attained a mythic status among the male population ever since you sent Weasel packing. It has made you unfeasibly desirable."

"That's hardly my problem."

"But it is."

"And I am not hard to get."

"Really? So what would it take?"

She stabbed the last piece of pork with her now lone chopstick and pondered while she chewed. "A certain level of grace."

"Swallow first."

She scowled even as she did. "Manners and decency. Social intelligence. Emotional too. The ability to read a room and a person's cues, to not have to spell everything out every minute of every day. Intellectual curiosity. A love of books. A sense of morality. Fidelity. Loyalty. To be protective without being overbearing. To hold a door and hold my hand but not patronize me as a woman. To appreciate my appearance but not value it above my brain and who I am. To care about the things I love. To have passion matched by restraint."

Malfoy raised a single eyebrow. "That all?"

"A secure job and good looks always help. And I've always preferred my men tall."

"Ah, it all makes sense now. The mythical creature isn't you."

"It's not?"

"No. It's the impossible ideal you've created for yourself. No human being in existence could ever measure up and as you spend your life alone, you'll still take comfort in the self-righteous notion of never lowering your standards again. But really you've created a wall that keeps all others away. A rather devious and Slytherin approach, if I may say so."

"You may not. And what about you? I've never heard of you dating. Can Mummy and Daddy no longer find a pureblood wife willing to take your name?"

"I'm hardly a catch these days. And I've found that the solitary life rather suits me. I should thank you in all honesty. Being witness to your own romantic tribulations has sworn me off relationships well into old age."

"How very cynical. And protectionist."

He gave an amused shrug to match his smirk. "Well played, Granger. Touché."

Her pyrrhic victory marked the end of lunch. He could read her too well but in doing so had revealed where their similarities lay. There was no comfort in that. She did not want to see Draco Malfoy when she looked in a mirror.

He cleared up her desk and returned to his own and they slipped back into silence. It was less comfortable now and also notably less productive. She would catch him watching her and when he returned to mindlessly twirling his quill, she would find herself doing the same. Making eye contact, her pulse would race, her hand would slip and ink would splatter across the page. But there was no hidden truth to the blots, only chaos. Her thoughts were a mess. We're both going to die alone. Maybe here in this office. And McLaggen will still try and ask my corpse out on a date.

"Ugh!"

"My thoughts exactly," Malfoy said. He rose to respond to a tapping at the window Hermione hadn't even noticed. When the window opened, a dozen owls flooded in.

"What on earth?"

"I'm surprised it took this long. Possibly your wards kept them from arriving earlier." He began removing scrolls and handing out owl treats. At one point, three owls were sat along his shoulders and two more were on an arm. With his pale straw hair, long limbs and dark robes, he looked like a scarecrow and Hermione told him.

"The term you are looking for is scare-owl. And I'm not that scary." He made his point by scratching the head of a little owl before sending it on its way. Eventually the room was emptied of birds and he began sorting the scrolls. "One for you and eleven for me."

"What are they? Valentine's cards?"

He smiled knowingly. "Still holding out, ay?" Returning to his desk, he opened the first of his pile. It was a howler, decrying his name and his face and all that he stood for now and during the war. "Such sweet music. Shall we play on?" Another swore that if the Malfoys made another marital overture towards their daughter they would be meeting the sharp end of a wand. There were at least four more in the same vein. And others denouncing his betrayal of both the Order and blood supremacy. The last submitted that he was good-looking but deserved no happiness beyond shameful and degrading hate-sex. "I think they like me," he declared, folding up and storing that particular howler for posterity.

All in all, it was a strange, competing mixture of pureblood and anti-Death Eater venom, for Malfoy had somehow earned the wrath of both sides.

Hermione blinked. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged in resignation; there were hints of tiredness too and begrudging acceptance that the deluge of hateful vitriol still had its point. "My fans always deliver on the holidays."

She stared down at her unopened scroll. "I suppose I should be grateful."

"You think that's a howler? It's probably an offer of marriage from the Weasel. Or maybe McLaggen has tried his illiterate hand to haiku poetry."

"Ha!" She threw the scroll at him. "You do the honors."

He did, snatching it from the air with his seeker muscle memory. "It would be my pleasure." The paper was red. The seal was unmarked. Malfoy even deigned to sniff it. "Cheap cologne. I call Weasel."

"Get on with it!"

He broke the seal and an instrumental version of a Weird Sisters' ballad started to play. "Oh no." Hermione covered her face with her hands before she could see Malfoy's grin split his face fully in half.

"Mione, yeah?" he began in a dreadful imitation of Ron Weasley.

"It does not begin that way," she hissed through her fingers.

"You are cordially invited to the annual Ministry Valentine's Gala this Saturday. Floos open at seven. Formal robes required. A date in the spirit of love and romance is essential."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"I told you this place is a dungheap."

"So where's your invite?"

"It says a date is required. Along with the spirit of love and romance. I suppose they didn't want to risk me arriving stag and with my Dark mark showing."

"Like you'd wear sleeveless robes."

"Was that a compliment, Granger?"

She stuck out her tongue.

"Charming." He stood and crossed the room to hand her the scroll. "You know what this means?" he said as she read and confirmed that the contents were word for word as bad as he'd stated.

"What?"

"You're going to be inundated by offers of dates."

"So what? I'm not going."

"I believe beneath the R.S.V.P. it says attendance by Ministry employees is mandatory."

"Except for you?"

"Aren't I always the exception?"

"This place is barbaric!"

"I see you're finally coming around to my way of thinking. Brightest Witch of her Age and all." By now Malfoy was back behind his desk. "Just take McLaggen."

"Tell me you're joking."

"Yes. But the fact you thought I might be serious is rather insulting." He threaded his long fingers together and rested on his elbows to survey her coolly. "Honestly, I don't know how to help you, Granger. Your special unicorn man does not exist."

"Why don't we plan our field trip this weekend?"

"What?"

"To survey the kelpies. I can say we made the arrangements before the invites were sent out."

"You really don't want to go to this thing, do you?"

"No."

"And you'd rather spend your weekend in the cold dark depths of a loch with Wizarding Britain's greatest pariah?"

"Yes."

"I suppose it could be done."

"Thank you!"

"And it does make me feel rather chivalrous."

"I'm sure the feeling will pass."

They smiled as they looked at each other. No taunts, no knowingness, just the contentment of being on entirely the same page. So they got on with their work. Hermione owled the Scottish branch of their department to make the arrangements, making sure to backdate her request at the suggestion of Malfoy. "We can blame the high Valentine's Day owl traffic for the delay," he said, which made his usual unassailable sense. The Ministry was forced to accept her declining of the gala invitation. The whole plot took barely two hours, time during which incessant knocks at the door were ignored. It was well after five when they were done and Hermione's wannabe suitors appeared to have relinquished their hopes.

"Finally," she said and released all the wards. Then the door opened and Ron Weasley entered, breathless and wearing muddied auror robes.

"Did you get my flowers?" he panted.

"Erm…" She looked with panicked eyes to Malfoy.

"I thought they were meant for me and incinerated them on the spot. You can never be too careful."

"What?"

"If I had known your intentions were genuine, I would have read the note. Should I expect a formal declaration?"

Ron's face started to go a shade of red that clashed with his hair. "You sabotaged my gift?"

"It was an accident, Ron. All Malfoy gets are howlers and boobytrapped presents. You can't blame him for being cautious." Hermione rose from her chair. "What are you here for?"

"It's…" He glanced to Malfoy again. "Give us a minute, yeah?"

Malfoy shrugged. It was the one that was as good as giving Ron the middle finger. "Yeah? If you want me to?" he asked Hermione.

She nodded, and he left the room.

"How can you stand to work with him?" Ron said.

Arms folded, she arched an eyebrow in a way she was sure Malfoy would be proud of. "That's all you came here to say?"

"I'm sorry, alright. I'm sorry for everything. I've had a year to think things through and it's that time again and I know what I want now. It's always been you. I messed it up but I don't want to do it again. Gimme another chance, 'Mione. Let me prove it to you."

"Prove what? We've already proved that we're a disaster. You're one of my best friends, Ron, and I want to keep it that way."

"Can't we—?"

"No."

"So this is final? You're ending things for good on Valentine's Day again?"

"Who cares what stupid day it is? And things already ended. This is just closure. This is me saying you're my friend and I love you and I want you in my life. And I'm sorry too and I forgive you. Isn't that better than last year?"

"I guess."

She hugged him, head pressed to his chest while she waited for his arms to come up around her. "Thank you," she whispered. Ron always ticked the tall box at least.

He hugged her back with a sigh. "I still need a date for the gala."

"I'm not going."

"How?"

"I'll be in Scotland for work."

She heard the door open behind them. "Granger—"

Shit.

"Weasley, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same, McLaggen."

"That looks like a platonic hug."

Ron held her tighter. "Well, it's—"

"Ron!" She let him go. "I'll handle this. We'll talk later." Ron refused to move while Cormac watched them with arms folded. Hermione threw her own arms up in frustration. "Men!"

"I only see one man in here," McLaggen said.

"Yeah and you're looking at him," Ron retorted.

"Why don't the pair of you date?" Hermione tried to hustle them through the door. "I am really not available, not for today, not for the gala, not for any day in the foreseeable future and not for either of you posturing neanderthal children."

Unfortunately both of them were a lot bigger than her and she struggled to get them far. "Really. I have much better things to do."

"Like what?" demanded McLaggen, and Ron seemed to take interest in her answer too.

"Like ditching you fine fellows for a weekend spent counting kelpies with me." Malfoy had returned and was now carrying two takeout coffees from Starbucks. "The lady has rather peculiar tastes," he said, easily shoving past the two other men and handing a cup to her.

"What's this?" she said, noticing that the label read _Darko_.

"A soy latte. You look like the type." He glanced behind him. "Seems that we're done here, yeah?"

Ron scowled but protested no further. "I'll catch you later, 'Mione." And with a final glare at Malfoy, he left.

McLaggen, however, refused to take the blatant hint. "What about our date?" he said, causing Malfoy to turn fully around.

"Why do you want to date her?"

"Huh?"

"It's a straightforward question that shouldn't be hard to answer. You've been pursuing Granger here for the best part of a year and your success rate makes my own Death Eater career look respectable. The point is why do you still want her when she has clearly and repeatedly said no?"

"She's…"

"What?" Malfoy sipped from his coffee with a frightening level of indifference. "Here's your chance. Now convince her."

"I…" McLaggen scratched the back of his head as he stared at Hermione.

"Seriously?" she said. "You've got nothing?"

"I think you're pretty."

"Great."

"Pretty great, yeah."

"Good lord."

"Well I'm glad we could clarify the depths of your feelings. For isn't that what this glorious day is all about?" Malfoy nodded at what lay beyond the doorway. "Best be going then." He shut the door before McLaggen had even turned around to leave. "I'm sure that gratified the ego."

"That was awful," Hermione said, drifting back to her desk to sink into her chair.

"Hardly. I was right. And though it is a regular occurrence, we can all still take a great deal of comfort in the fact."

"Go fuck yourself, _Darko_."

Malfoy snorted. "If I were McLaggen I'd have made sure to mention your surprisingly filthy mouth. Quite the turn on."

"Is that all you would say?"

"No." Back behind his desk and arms stretched behind his head, he seemed to ponder for a moment. "If I were trying to win you over—which I most certainly would since I have your checklist to go off—I would say that it was your intellect that grabbed me first. A colossal brain housed in an alluring feminine shell. You have a great deal of depth and maturity mixed with this innocent ingenue naiveté that beguiles any man of refined tastes. Your hair is wild but could still be tamed by the right master. You cannot censor a single one of your expressions and it makes you easy and extremely fun to read. You are loyal and kind and quick to anger and impulsive acts of violence, the usual tiresome Gryffindor combination. You are an extraordinarily skilled and gifted witch despite the assumed disadvantages of your Muggleborn beginnings. You're the whole package, Granger. Who wouldn't want a part of that?"

Hermione felt faint. "Erm… thanks," she said while trying to hide her blushing face behind her coffee. She couldn't even look his way.

"So, would I?"

"What?"

"Have more success than McLaggen with my answer?"

"Why'd you care?" And she looked up in time to catch the slightest of shrugs.

This was a hard one to decipher. On the surface, it was delivered with a casual and deep uncaring, like his answer would matter not. But there was an edge of tension, a glimpse of revealing too much. How could she tell such things? Did they both now know each other really so well?

"Hypothetically speaking," he said.

"Hypothetically speaking, I would consider saying yes."

"Am I your unicorn, Granger?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

He smirked, arms relaxing as he began to tidy up his desk. The tension was over, the moment gone, whatever it was, hypothetically at least. Hermione drank her coffee and started to put her desk in order too.

"Don't stay too late," Malfoy was saying, rising from his seat as he shrugged on his outer robes.

"It's either here or a romantic evening with Crookshanks."

"That decrepit furball? You really have an unfortunate weakness for gingers." She wanted to retort but there was no acid behind his words. And he was busy, bending over to retrieve something from a lower drawer. She watched as he straightened up, a small wrapped package clasped in one hand.

"What's that?"

"A gift."

"For whom?"

"My mother."

"You buy your mother a Valentine's Day gift?"

"It's not from me," he said and slipped the package into an inner robe pocket.

"Then who?" He looked at her as if the answer should be obvious. "You mean… your father?"

"I told you he was a broken idealist. He always gave Mother an item of jewelery on Valentine's Day. Even though he's in prison, he commanded that I uphold the tradition."

"That's weirdly romantic," Hermione said.

"You'd be surprised."

"I have been."

He stared at her then and, since he was staring, she allowed herself the luxury of doing the same. As annoying as it was to hear him say it, she had to admit that he was extremely handsome. Tall (though maybe not as tall as Ron) and broad (though not as wide and stocky as McLaggen) and with that unique white blond hair that he wore now short but with a consciously careless fringe that fell in his even more unique gray eyes. She could never get over his eyes. Or his cheekbones. Or the elegant length of his hands. She was grateful for this chance to stare at him, and he suddenly smiled as he realized she was checking him out.

"You really are fun to read," he said. "Goodnight, Granger."

"Malfoy, wait."

She went and joined him where he stood before the floo. "I hope this is okay." And she hugged him. She had never really touched him before and now she had her arms around him and could feel the firm contours of his chest and his warmth and the scent she had only ever caught wisps of until this moment; he smelled delicious. And he felt delicious too. Especially when his arms came up around her and he was holding her back. "Thanks for today," she said.

"What did I do?"

"You made it bearable. Almost enjoyable even. I'm glad that I spent this dumb horrid waste of a holiday stuck in this office with you."

"Is that your way of saying 'Happy Valentine's Day', Granger?"

"I already said it."

"But with feeling, yeah?"

She elbowed him in the side, and he grunted. "Impulsive Gryffindor," he muttered, taking hold of her chin to tilt her head up to his. "Hypothetically speaking, how would you feel if I kissed you?"

She blinked at him. "I think I'd feel okay, strictly hypothetically speaking of course."

"Only hypothetically, hm?" Then he kissed her. And she kissed him back. Arms around his neck and her body crushed flush against his. His mouth parted and his lips were soft and demanding and his tongue; how did he know to do that? She could hear him groan, quiet and deep, and she was not standing, he was holding her up. She had melted; she had only read of such things but her body was now liquid in his arms. Delicious kisses. She sighed. And they were real.

"Earth to Granger." Her eyes blinked open. "I thought I lost you there."

"No, I'm still here."

"You should go home."

"Come with me."

"Hermione." He sighed and he shrugged. She thought this one meant that it was taking all his restrained passion not to take her right then. "Mother is waiting. And maybe I want to do this right."

"Right now?"

"Bloody stop it." He smiled as he stroked her face. "We've got a romantic weekend counting kelpies, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

"Shall we call it a date?"

"If you like."

"I'll take you to dinner."

"Even in your wellies?"

"Is this some sort of fetish you have?"

"I've just been thinking about it."

"Perv."

"About you in waterproof gear looking cold in the rain."

"You really are a freak, Granger."

"You said I'm the whole package."

"A freaky package, yes." He released her and took a step back. "I really should be going."

"When will I see you again?"

"Tomorrow, crazy. It's only Wednesday."

"Oh."

"You sounded like I was about to deploy abroad."

"I just think I'll miss you."

"Keep up with talk like that. It does wonders for my ego."

"And see? Now the moment's passed."

"Ha!"

"Just leave already."

"Going, going."

And he was gone.

When she arrived in her flat some time later, Crookshanks was sleeping on the sofa like the worst date ever. Cursing his thoughtless behavior, she went to the kitchen to start on dinner and was met by wide unblinking eyes beyond the window.

"Huh?"

The owl tilted its head, tapping once, and dropped a scroll in her hand as she let it in. It did not wait for a treat and she was too distracted to offer, her fingers tracing the ornate M of the wax seal. On breaking it, the parchment smelled welcomingly familiar. Hermione unfurled it to find a single line in curling script:

_Ceci n'est pas une Valentin._

And below that a drawing of a unicorn.

"So you do exist," she whispered to herself and gave a happy little shrug all her own.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's an early Valentine's Day gift to you all. I wrote an even more mindlessly indulgent part 2. Hope you enjoy! 3

* * *

"I should've known you'd take this seriously."

Hermione surveyed the loch, hands on hips or where she thought her hips should be through the thick layers of waterproof clothing she was wearing. A yellow sou'wester hat hung low over her brow, which her visibly condensing breath was not enough to dislodge. The mist across the water reduced visibility even further. This was not going to be easy. Especially given the total lack of professionalism from her usually reliable colleague.

"Since when has a field trip not involved actual fieldwork?" she said, turning from the loch to face the cause of all her woes.

Draco Malfoy shrugged. It was a one-shouldered effort this time and lacking in his usual commitment, perhaps hindered by the fact that he lounged on a transfigured armchair by the shingled water's edge and held a glass of scotch firewhisky in his non-shrugging hand. The thick drizzle that saturated everything else hovered around him by a well-placed protective charm and he had even foregone a suitable coat and wellies to leave exposed a dark wool jumper and charcoal slacks finished off by his favored dragon-hide boots. There must have been a warming charm as well, Hermione was sure and had denied herself the effects of. Weathering the elements was all part of the experience. But Draco had packed as if this was a holiday, right down to the two diligent house-elves topping up his drink and laying out the gourmet hamper that sat beside him.

"I find your lack of appreciation for any kind of euphemism extremely disappointing. Mipsy, that's quite enough ice."

The small house-elf bowed. "Forgives me, Master Draco. We wills be starting with the oysters soon. Will the mistress be joining us?"

"I—"

Draco held her gaze. He was Draco now, ever since he kissed her and she kissed him back and she accepted his not-a-Valentine Valentine's Day card. That had only been three days ago.

Since then nothing had really changed between them. Except for his uncensored stares that were like being undressed and his carefully careless hands that touched her whenever she was in reaching distance (and sometimes not since magic allowed for such impediments) and his morning kisses and lunchtime ones as well and the full-on make-out session any time between one and five, when he would drag her onto his lap and block out the rest of the Ministry by magic and ministrations combined.

Completely unprofessional. Just like how he stared at her now.

"Do you really plan to count kelpies? Or perhaps re-enact ancient fishing practices? This whole maritime role-play fetish you have, though unexpected, is not entirely off-putting."

"You're supposed to role-play as well. As my associate in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You remember that thing called a job?"

He smiled at her and she fought to maintain her composure and righteous rage. "So you do want to role-play?"

"Malfoy!"

"Fine." He rose from his chair, which he returned to its original form of a moss-covered rock, and handed his glass without looking to a precognizant Mipsy. "Lunch will have to wait, I'm afraid." He strolled towards her, hands now in both his pockets, and rocked back on his heels each time the water tried to lap at his toes. "What shall be my reward for a gallant effort such as this?"

"Reward?"

Hermione looked up at him as he tugged down on the edges of her hat. "Tell me there's another side to be discovered beneath this tragically wanton fisherwoman's shell."

"There are so many layers, Draco. Humorless Ministry drone. Man-hating spinster. Dried up husk who goes to bed before ten."

"Keep talking dirty."

"Victorian chastity chic," she whispered.

Draco groaned, pulling down her hat hard enough that it covered her eyes. She could feel his large palm rest atop her head as he gave out orders. "Ready the boat. And bring the firewhisky." There followed the distinctive pops of apparition as the elves did what they were told. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into," he said.

"I've dealt with kelpies before."

He patted her head twice before releasing her. "You really have no idea." And as she removed her hat to ask him what he could mean by that, he only shrugged with his back towards her. She couldn't figure this shrug out as it appeared but at least the view of his behind made up for it.

"Quit gawping."

She couldn't help it. He had given her permission to. Something tightly laced inside her had become undone and he had been the one to untie it. He didn't want her to hold back; he wanted her to hold him. To take what she wanted. To look as much as she pleased. It embarrassed and aroused her together. And he knew it. She flipped him the finger while he couldn't see and he laughed because he still saw everything.

He saw her.

"Change of heart?"

She shook her head. He held out his hand and she took it, letting him help her onto the simple rowboat that had definitely seen better days as the elves pushed it out into the water. He helped the elves in too and they each took an oar as he hopped in behind them, designer boots now safely transfigured into wellies.

"Make this quick," he grumbled.

"What a girl longs to hear."

He grinned as he held his arm open to her and she moved to sit beside him. "Just tell them what you want to do. Mipsy's the brawn but Percy here is the brains of the operation." A male elf just a bit taller that Mipsy and decidedly older gave Hermione a brusque salute. "I had him read up on Newt Scamander's old records. We have some of his original notes and diaries in the Manor library. He spent a few months out here I believe."

"Back in 1922," Percy began.

"Percy, can I hire you?"

"Hands off! That elf is a Malfoy heirloom." Draco pulled her flush against him. "Go on, Percy. You can lull me to sleep and keep Granger entertained." He raised a hip flask to his mouth and pulled off the cap with his teeth. "Worked like a charm ever since I was a babe."

Curled up against Draco's chest, she let Percy regale her with a concise yet detailed history of the kelpies in the area and how their numbers had slowly dwindled due to overfishing of their main food supply. There had also been rare game poachers and encroachments by Muggles, such as around Loch Ness, which led to only a single infamous kelpie living in those waters now.

The information all lined up with what Hermione's research had shown. The local officials in the area had told her that a large family still remained in this particular loch, which was unusual and hence needed to be preserved. If the loch and surrounding lands could be protected via Ministry legislation then kelpie numbers stood a chance of being maintained, if not slowly increased. It was efforts like this that made her love her job. Draco just liked to succeed, but his Slytherin ambition and vicious competitiveness were useful weapons to be wielded. She knew he had probably read everything that Percy was recounting. But he had an image to maintain, he would claim, even though Hermione now knew better.

"Here's the spot," Percy said as they reached the center of the loch. Hermione could only guess it was the center since there was fog all around them and no shore to be seen, bar the shadows of distant Munros.

"Mipsy, if you would do the honors," Draco said and the small elf released her oar to conjure up an ice bucket piled inside with shucked oysters.

Hermione raised her head from the warm cushion of Draco's body. "You brought lunch?"

"Not for you. Turns out the kelpies have distinguished tastes as well. Oysters make perfect bait for them."

"I never read that anywhere."

"It's not been published, far as I'm aware. But Scamander wrote an anecdote about it. Serendipitous discovery is all part of science, as the Muggles say I'm sure."

"Keep talking dirty."

"Pay attention." He shifted so she sat between his legs as they watched Mipsy toss the oysters into the water. Percy pulled the oars fully onboard and everyone went still as the ripples on the surface gradually petered out. Then perfect stillness all around, save for Draco's hands caressing her hips. "Is your body really under here?" he whispered, gripping through her vast layers of waterproofs.

"Ssh," she hissed. The world hung like a bated breath; the mist seemed static. No sound save for her lungs and her heart. Draco's own respirations cast warmly by her ear as her hands covered his and they all waited.

It took several moments for the stasis to break. An undulation beneath the surface, the sudden rocking of the boat and the arch of a scaled tail emerging, so dark green that it looked almost black, shiny and perfect. Arches and arches until only an intricate tail-fin could be seen disappearing back into the depths.

"Oh my god."

Others started appearing. Different sizes and in different shades. Hermione began to take notes with water-resistant quill on equally charmed parchment.

"How many is that?" she murmured.

"Five at least," Percy said. "The most colorful's the female. She's the biggest. Don't think we've seen her yet."

"I think you're right. So just the father and the babies. Does the female stay with them?"

"They mate for life," Draco said, his body coming up behind her. "Though the male is burdened by most of the domestic labor. Terribly savage creatures."

"I'd say they are most evolved."

"Of course you would." His arms rested either side of her on the edge of the boat as she looked out at the water. "You'd love a man at home left to your mercy, forced to do your bidding."

"And carry my children."

"You're such a monster, Granger."

"Hush. I want to see the mother."

"Mother-fucker."

"Draco!"

The boat rocked then and she had to grip the edges herself. Her quill fell into the water as Draco grabbed her around the waist to pull her back. "That wasn't me," he said.

"Then what was it?"

"Master Draco!" Mipsy cried. They turned in time to see an oar floating away. "I'ms so sorry!" The elf was tearful now. "I couldn't stops it in time."

"I think it must be the mother," Percy said calmly. "Adult females with fries can be quite territorial."

"You don't say." Draco reached for the remaining oar and shifted it to the stern, transfiguring it into a small propeller engine with a wordless gesture from his wand. "Hold on everyone. You especially Granger."

"Draco, I—"

The bow lifted as the engine whirred to life, and Hermione fell on her arse, Mipsy landing beside her and clinging to an arm. They both clung to each other as Draco directed the boat to where he thought must be the shore.

"Do you know where you're going?" Hermione yelled.

"It's a loch. We're bound to hit land eventually."

"That's not reassuring in the least!"

"Erm, Master Draco?" All eyes shifted to Percy, who was looking behind them, his already large eyes bulging wide as a thunderous roar echoed through the air. "That's definitely the mother—"

"SHIT!"

They followed his gaze to see the gigantic form of a half-horse kelpie, beautiful and golden and screaming mad, its front hooves reared back as its thick long tail slashed through the water.

"Hermione, do something!" Draco shouted.

"Like what?!"

He revved the little engine as hard as it would go, steering in zig-zagging lines left to right to try and drive the kelpie off course.

"You have a wand and six hundred N.E.W.T.s. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"Men!" she huffed and climbed to her knees, Mipsy hanging from her neck as she pulled out her wand and held it high. "_Expecto Patronum!_" Bright white light flashed from the tip and her patronus took form, a large glowing otter arching from the sky and diving into the loch, its luminescent shape still visible beneath the murky surface as the kelpie took notice and duly followed. Draco aimed the boat in the opposite direction as he yelled something that sounded like, "I fucking love you." But his voice was drowned out by the sound of splashing water, the kelpie's large body creating a huge wave as it turned, which crashed onto the boat and sent Hermione overboard.

The cold hit her first, hit her only. It wasn't wetness. It wasn't Draco calling her name. Or Mipsy screaming. Or the sudden lack of sound. There was darkness and the darkness felt cold. She couldn't feel her body. She couldn't feel her wand in her hand and she couldn't move, her layers of waterproofs no defense against an actual body of water; they only weighed her down. She was drowning over kelpies. Fuck! She had survived a war. She bloody hated this. People did not die on field trips. Imagine her obituary. Skeeter would come up with the worst headline, she was sure. And her friends. What would they do? She should've gone to the stupid gala. This was all the Ministry's fault. She could sue. Draco would sue for her. He would bring the Ministry down. Money's all they know and they don't even have much of it. He had said that once. He had said so many things. Sarcastic Draco. Witty. Caustic. Kind. She had never seen him naked. Oh god. Her last thoughts were awful. She couldn't go out like this. What would he say? She wanted to see him. She wanted to see him again and let him speak with words of comfort—

"Stupid witch!"

She felt her body dragged from the water and over the side of the boat. He leaned over her, his face more pale that she'd ever seen it and dripping wet in fury.

"Don't dare fucking die or I'll fucking kill you."

And then he was gone and the sky was moving. Gray clouds in different shades like a patchwork quilt. It was so cold, she was almost warm. There were small hands beside her and Draco muttering, yelling curses as he argued with the frantic elves.

"Apparate her to the castle then!"

Percy appeared between the clouds and her and his clever eyes looked so sad. She wanted to tell him not to worry but her lips felt numb, her teeth were chattering uncontrollably and that couldn't be good. It couldn't be warm. Not anymore until it was.

"Hold on, mistress," Percy said and the world spun black and she got sucked down, reemerging somewhere dark and cold but dry. Thank god for dry. "I'll get the fire on. Wait there."

Hermione did. She lay on a cool dry floor in a cold dark room and a faint glow of warmth could be felt from nearby. What was going on? Was Draco here? She had booked in a bed and breakfast. All her stuff was at a highland lodge, where the Ministry floo linked to. Draco had met her there with his hamper and lack of waterproof clothes and two elves but he was late. She had been to two lochs by then. Nothing to see. Nothing to count. What a waste of her time until she had almost died and then she thought about what she'd like to see.

I'd like to see you.

A pop could be heard. "Bloody hell!" His voice was cold, ice that warmed her heart. She tilted her head and could see his dragon-hide boots squelching towards her. Water was dripping down and when she looked up there he stood, wet from head to toe, Mipsy held in his arms with her small hands around his neck, clinging to him like a child.

Look at you.

"You look like a drowned rat, Granger. Funny story. You nearly were." His gaze shifted, now distracted. "Percy, I've seen bigger fires on top of birthday cakes!" His boots left in a soggy trail and there was crackling and much more warmth. It felt good. "Get her out of those clothes. Don't look at me. Mipsy, you can stop crying. We're all alive. It wasn't because you dropped the oar, for the love of Circe!" More banging around, apologetic elves and hurrying footsteps. "Fine. Go save yourselves." Draco reappeared and crouched down beside her. "Trust me when I say it was never meant to be like this."

"L-l-l-like wh-wh-wha-at?"

"When I got to undress you. Is that okay?"

She tried to nod. He pulled her boots off first and she heard the splash of water as they emptied. Then her socks. Her toes were distant appendages she had once heard about but could no longer remember. His hands were rubbing her feet but it only hurt in a cold and indistinct kind of pain.

"There was one one fatality." Oh god. "You lost your hat," he said, unbuttoning her coat and shifting her out of it. He raised her by her back and pulled the suspenders of her rain pants down. "But you still look so bloody sexy. Seriously. Cover up some more."

"St-st-stop!" She tried to laugh. He pulled the rain pants down. She still had thermal leggings on underneath. A fleece jumper and padded vest. He unzipped the vest.

"Lift your arms." It came off, then the jumper next. Her head got caught and all her hair, wet and knotted. "This isn't fun or seductive. What's my reward?"

She laid back down in her damp utilitarian bra. "I w-w-wore this for you."

"No you didn't." His fingers, cold and long, hooked under the top of her leggings, lifting her by the hips as they drew them down. "But this?"

White granny panties. Marks and Spencer's finest.

"True Victorian chastity chic," he breathed, his head bent down. His mouth pressed to her stomach and she gasped.

"Wh-wh-what about you?"

She watched him as he pulled off his jumper and unbuttoned his shirt. The fabric already clung to his skin, hinting at the ridges of defined muscles. Pale and smooth underneath. His nipples were sharp pink pinpoints. His pants went too, after boots and socks, and he was left in snug black boxer briefs. His legs were long and strongly toned.

"Not fair."

"Shut up, Hermione." He picked her up off the floor and wrapped her cold damp body around his. He was cold and damp too but between them there was warmth. He moved them closer to in front of the fire. The flames crackled orange and made his skin glow like the sun. He pulled a blanket from somewhere and sat down on a fur rug, covering the both of them, one hand tangling in her poor disheveled hair. "Is this better?"

"Mmm."

"Stay awake."

"Can't."

"That's the hypothermia. Stay awake and tell me tales of uninspiring love. Unsatisfactory trysts that left you dry and annoyed. Your first time. And the second. How much did Weasel suck?"

"Oh my god."

"Did he suck? Did he know what foreplay was?"

"This is the worst date ever."

"So it is a date?"

"The worst field trip ever."

"Don't lie."

"I guess I've nearly died before."

His other hand rubbed up and down her back. "None of that."

"Where you scared?"

"Terrified."

"But you dragged me back."

"It's in my nature."

"To be heroic?"

"Merlin, no. That's not what I meant." He pulled on her hair so she was forced to look at him. "We're just like the kelpies, us Malfoys."

"Half-horse?"

He looked so serious then. She had never seen this look before. "Never mind." He shrugged and she hated it as well. "You killed the moment."

"I nearly died! You have to tell me. You have to—"

"I don't have to do anything." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I could do nothing." He kissed below her ear, where her jaw met her neck. "Until you beg." He kissed the edge of her mouth. "Make you behave."

"You'll make me murderous."

"Hermione." She blinked at how he said her name. "I meant something that at least takes effort."

"Son of a—" But his mouth covered hers fully and there was nothing more to say.

Until Draco Malfoy, she had never been good at kissing. In her head, there was poor technique, the inexperience being entirely on her part, despite over two years of practice with Ron. What was missing? He had kissed other women beside her. So it was her that must be lacking. Except that now it made no sense. Because this was amazing. She was amazing. Draco Malfoy could not get enough and she had got an Outstanding in her kissing N.E.W.T. Stop thinking about exams! Stop thinking. Was he her teacher? Had she learned in less than a week what all those wasted months before had failed to do? Or he was just that good. So good. So bloody good, the bloody git.

Thinking. Always thinking. Stupid girl. Let go. Let go and go and—

"I can literally hear your brain at work. The cogs must be rusted by ice. What can I do?" He pulled away and moved down to her neck, the hollow of her throat. He lowered a bra strap and kissed her shoulder. "You taste like loch water." He kissed down to the top of her chest. "I'm going to get some fatal Muggle disease. This bra is a reservoir for dangerous microorganisms." She laughed as his fingers reached around her back and began unhooking. "Seriously. Is this a test? A medieval contraption? I know we landed on Victorian but your aversion to sexy underwear harkens back to more ancient times. I admire the dedication to historical detail, truly." He laid her down on the rug and pulled the bra fully off, her body shaking with laughter. "Your breasts are beautiful. Do you know that?"

"No."

"Don't cover them. I don't care what role-play fetish you have. Never cover them again."

"Might be a problem."

"No it won't." He looked and he reached, his hand cradling one goose-pimpled mound, thumb circling a nipple. "Never a problem. Not again. I won't ever hear it." He stretched out beside her and leaned down, mouth breathing over her other breast. "Did he want them like this?"

"Who?"

His mouth sucked on a nipple and her body arched from the floor. "Don't say his name. Don't even think it."

"You brought it up."

"To make the point that I am better. Say it."

"Yes."

"These belong to me."

"They belong to me."

"Suck on your own tits then."

"Draco!" And he moved his mouth to the other as his hands cradled both. She would come by just this alone, his dirty poems and lewd words. No one had ever spoken like this or touched her in heretic worship. Wrong and right. Never stop. "Draco—"

"Yes, darling girl?"

"Oh god."

"What do you want from me?" He kissed each breast and the valley between them. He kissed down her stomach to the hem of her mood-killing panties, kissed over the fabric and then, "I think I love these."

"I like the rug."

"Ha!" He was laughing with his face between her legs.

"This rug. What is it made from?"

"Quit changing the subject."

The floor was soft against her back and she was warm from the fire and Draco's breath against her cunt. "I never…"

"What?"

"We never did this."

"Unicorn skin."

"You can't be serious?"

"No. But the Weasel's a cretin. And you're a cretin too. What were you doing for so long?"

"I don't know. I don't know. It doesn't matter—"

"Yes it does. You should have ended things much sooner, Hermione. I would have—"

"What?"

She lifted her head from the floor and he looked up from between her thighs.

"I've been single for a whole year," she said.

"And I'm a coward. I like to take my time."

"You always liked me?"

"Lift up." His hands moved beneath her ass and he dragged her panties down her legs and past her feet. "I always liked to imagine but this is better." His hands rubbed up and down her thighs. "Do you touch yourself? Did you touch yourself?"

"Never."

"Why not? What do you think about?"

"Work."

"My balls are shrinking."

"How we're going to win. What I'm going to read. How you always look and you make me laugh. At some point I looked forward to work most of all because I was going to see you."

"Once a week at least and each night for the last three days, I jerked myself off thinking about you."

She whimpered; she had never whimpered before. Her legs rubbed together and he pulled them apart. "Let me." One thumb traced in slow firm circles over her clit, the other stroking between her folds. "You could open your mouth and recite the most boring piece of Ministry regulation and I would be hard at my desk. Something went wrong."

"You're a freak."

Her legs spread wide, he bent between them; she could feel the heat from his mouth when he spoke. "And you're one too." Then he sucked and he licked. He went down on her. Hermione melted to the rug like blood on unicorn skin, something rare and sacred and profane. Everything was wrong because it had taken her twenty-two years to be eaten out like this and nothing had ever felt so good.

_Let go._

It was his voice now.

"Let go, Hermione."

And she did. She bloody cried. His mouth never left her as her body trembled and spasms echoed from her core. She was a mess. She wasn't human. Oh my god. What was her name?

"Ssh." He crawled back over her, rolling onto his side and pulling her against him. "Ssh, it's okay. I know."

"Ugh!" She hit his chest. She laughed. She was shaking and in tears and hysterics. They laughed together. "That was amazing."

"I know, love."

"So do you love me then?"

"Do you love me?"

"It's only been three days."

"Not to me."

"How long?"

"Since you ended it with Weasel and I knew there was hope for you."

"Ass."

"And you said no to every fool who tried to ask you out."

"They were all awful."

"I know. If you had said yes to McLaggen I would've killed you both and then myself."

"You bloody psycho."

"Do you love me then?"

"Don't ask me yet." She hugged him close. "Just don't let me go."

"Okay."

A loud crash resounded through the castle. "Master Draco!"

"Bloody elves! This is all your fault, I swear."

"But you still love me?"

He untangled himself from her and got to his feet. He might have been admiring her as she lay naked, curled up before the fire, caught in a post-orgasmic glow that he had created. But he only shrugged then picked up and threw the blanket over her.

"I know that shrug," she called out as she chased after him. Blanket wrapped around her, she admired his arse while he stomped across the stone floor.

"What shrug?"

"I know all your shrugs," she said as he stopped and held his arm out for her.

"You do?"

"Oh yeah. I've been watching for two years."

He pulled her tight against him and kissed the top of her head, dragging her with him as he began walking again.

"I don't shrug."

"Yes, you do! All the time!"

"Then what was that then?"

"An 'I love you' shrug."

"Wrong!" He scooped her up and she squealed. "You failed."

"I never fail."

"Minus ten points to Gryffindor."

"Stop it!"

He carried her through what she guessed must be his castle, the stone passage winding until he stepped through half-open wooden doors into what was a colossal mess of a kitchen. "Take a look, Granger, and see for yourself."

Mipsy stood in the center of the room surrounded by a mosaic of broken crockery, her small body overtaken by rigors, her lips pale, her eyes bloodshot and watery. Percy teetered on a wobbling stool by the stove, one large pot bubbling hot stew or thick sauce over the rim, another sauté pan sizzling with black smoke and a strong scent of burning emanating from the oven below. Percy sneezed and the pot fell onto the floor; he soon began to follow, Mipsy screaming and Hermione too.

Draco dropped her as he caught Percy with a wandless and wordless spell and lifted Mipsy as well, floating them both away from the lethal sea of boiling stew and jagged crockery shards. Depositing them down by Hermione, his shoulders slumped and he slid to the ground, arms draped over his knees as he sighed.

"That was clearly the shrug of one who regrets ever liberating house-elves."

She had never seen him do wandless magic before. She could only do a spell or two and in extremes; she supposed that this counted. He seemed exhausted by the effort, barely moving as Mipsy and Percy tugged on each arm, sniffling loudly and begging for forgiveness.

"You're both sick with cold," Draco muttered.

"Kick us out," Percy begged. "We bring shame to the family. Master Abraxus must be turning in his grave!"

"I'ms so sorry! I'ms so sorry, Master Draco!"

"There there, good grief. Don't do anymore. You are relieved of all duties for the night. Consider this your punishment."

The denial of hard labor seemed to do the trick and both elves were appeased by the terrible torment.

"Are you okay, Draco?" Hermione asked.

"I'm fine." His eyes were closed. "Can you fetch my wand and your own, please, love? This now goes beyond my capabilities."

Hermione whispered a wandless _Accio_ and both wands appeared.

"Of bloody course," Draco muttered. "Come here." She curled up beside him as he cast enough spells to clear up the mess. Then he rose to his feet and began ushering the house-elves to wait before the fire. Soon they were wrapped in blankets and had their feet in pails of hot water, a cup of lemon and honeyed tea between their wrinkled hands as they continued to lament their many failings.

"You sure they'll be fine?" Hermione asked as Draco led her back to the kitchen.

"No but it's too late for regrets." He picked her up by the waist and set her on the counter. "Are you hungry? I can do soup, omelet or pasta and that's it."

"Soup sounds divine."

"Don't get too excited yet."

She watched him cook, still in his boxers and her wrapped in only a blanket but warm now. He hummed as he worked, mainly relying on magic, not that it mattered to her. Soon the soup was bubbling warm on the stove and he led her to a chair at the kitchen table. Another quick spell and the table was set for four.

"Percy! Mipsy!"

The two sick elves apparated as soon as they were called.

"Sit and eat," Draco told them. "That's an order."

They did as they were told and the four of them all sat together enjoying the homemade pea and ham soup.

"Wonder what they're having at the gala?" Hermione mumbled between a spoonful of soup and a bite of buttered bread.

Draco arched a single pale eyebrow. "Why, the spirit of love and romance, you miserable cynic."

"Ha! I prefer this much better." She raised a mug of hot chocolate. "Thank you to all of you for taking care of me."

Mipsy started sobbing noisily, while Percy dabbed at silent tears. Draco groaned. "Don't encourage them. Bedtime for you both." Then he sneezed.

"Master Draco is dying!" Mipsy wailed.

"Bed!" Draco shouted and slapped the table.

"Draco! Ignore him, it's just a cold," she assured the grief-stricken elves. "And I promise I'll make sure that he's okay."

"Mistress Hermione is truly a goddess," Percy said sagely. "It's just like Master Draco says."

"Master Draco will have you both thrown out onto your oversized ears if you don't get to bed right now."

There were two swift pops of apparition; they were finally alone.

"A goddess?" Hermione asked innocently, looking over the rim of her mug.

"In the good old days I could torture them to my heart's content."

"But you love them really."

He held out his hand and she let him pull her into his lap. "You've corrupted me. This job has brought me to ruin."

"It's the best thing you've ever done."

"I haven't done you yet." He sneezed again. Her hand pressed to his forehead.

"You are getting sick."

"Then fuck me better."

"Not tonight. I'm probably getting sick as well."

"Damn it, Granger." He reached for his wand and apparated them to his bedroom. "I promise I'll be good. Just stay with me."

"Where could I go? I don't have a thing to wear."

"Good." He pulled back the covers on a ridiculously large fourposter bed then pulled her down to lay beside him. "I'm never getting over the eroticism of your fisherwoman look."

His arms wrapped around her and she lay her head against his chest. "I'm never getting over you."

"Did you say something?"

"What's the deal with Malfoys and kelpies?"

"I heard you, you know. And since I'm sick and vulnerable, I'll tell you." He held her close and his voice vibrated through his chest like a purr. "We both mate for life," he said.

Hermione didn't move. She couldn't breathe and she felt him stop breathing as well. The world felt as static as a loch before the kelpies went wild. "We've not mated yet," she whispered. She clung to him and waited.

Draco exhaled and she sank with the movement. They both sank into the mattress, their bodies merging, the sensation warm between their flesh and their hearts, their lungs now in tandem; a sensation more comforting than any one she had known.

Draco stroked her hair as she grew gradually sleepy against him. "But we will," he said with a quiet yet brilliant certainty.

"We will," she agreed on a yawn, smiling as his arms shifted around her in the most contented of shrugs.


End file.
